


Subverting Expectations

by TobiasOfArkham



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Batjokes, Class Differences, Disaster boys falling desperately in love, Domestic Disputes, Drug Use, Flirting, Humor, Implied/Referenced Abortion, M/M, Pre-Canon, Romance, Situational couple violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26430190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobiasOfArkham/pseuds/TobiasOfArkham
Summary: A young billionaire befriends an eccentric unemployed comedian. Neither of them know quite what they're getting themselves into.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Long time, no upload! Here's a new love story for you :) It's positively fluffy by my standards lol. Rating and tags may change as chapters are added. Don't expect frequent updates, but I'll try my best. It really is gonna be just a romance novel... I think. It's pre-Joker, pre-Batman. Just a couple of young weirdos bumping into each other in the Gotham City night :3

Bruce nervously fiddled with his tie as they left the meeting room. It had gone better than expected, being his first big business negotiation on his own as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. The ACE Chemicals board of directors had been obviously confused when hearing that Bruce Wayne himself would be attending the meeting; This was definitely not a typical day for an 18 year old. But he had felt he had to see the place for himself to make sure everything was up to the environmental and security standards he had been assured of. He had accepted their final offer on a brand new Wayne Tech patent to make use of in their latest project, and they had discussed a future collaboration between their research departments; This was, in fact, the "offer". Wayne Tech was hardly short on money which Bruce had refused right off the bat. What Bruce wanted was their cooperation. He wanted access to their brightest minds and their production equipment. He wanted their records and premises inspected. He wanted to become more involved in what his company was doing, in order to understand things better and hopefully help to maintain the standard his parents had set. 

“Have you seen Jack? I can’t believe he’d be late for this,” The ACE manager, a blond woman in a blazer, asked the janitor who happened to be passing by.

“Uh, yeah, I -” the scruffy, middle-aged man began, but she cut him off.

“My sincere apologies, Mr Wayne. The technician filling in for our head of research is late, but I’m sure -”

Bruce held a hand up.

“That’s alright, Miss Roberts. And you are...?”

He offered his hand to the janitor, who looked at him, wide-eyed, as if he was speaking a foreign language.

“Luke," he said after a moment, and shook his hand, giving the boy a once-over.

“Nice to meet you, Luke. I'm Bruce Wayne," he said, feeling immediately stupid for it since everyone seemed to recognize him everywhere he went. He kept his cool though and carried on, "We seem to be missing my guide to the research department. Would you mind showing me around? Maybe we’ll bump into him.”

Luke looked incredulously over at Miss Roberts and back at Bruce.

“Sure, go ahead," said Roberts, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Maybe you’ll find him in the break room...” she gave a frustrated sigh, “I _swear_...”  
With that, she walked away.

“Right. If you’ll follow me,” Luke said, and Bruce felt instantly more at ease being with someone as uncomfortable around the suits as he was.

“She called it,” Luke said, “Jack’s in the break room. Tried telling her as much.”

Bruce asked Luke a bunch of questions about the chemical plant and what it was like working there. After his initial confusion over why a billionaire would care about his job or even talk to him, he warmed up to him and Bruce learned a great deal from the man who, it turned out, had been the janitor there for 20 years and was well liked among the other workers. He saw and heard everything that happened there.

As they approached the break room he could hear someone talking inside, but when they opened the door there was only one man inside, apparently talking to himself.

“Yo, Napier! Get off your skinny ass! Bruce Wayne wants to talk to you!”

The man at the break room table gave a start and spilled some coffee on his sleeve. He cursed and stood up.

“Jesus, Luke! I was rehearsing! What do you mean Bruce W-”

He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes. A crease appeared between his eyebrows.

“It’s Tuesday, isn’t it?”

“All day,” Luke said, now visibly amused, as he made his way to the coffee maker to pour himself a cup.

Jack Napier was a tall man, slightly shorter than Bruce himself. He was thin and had a narrow face with sharp, distinctive features; A long, pointy nose, thin lips, high cheekbones and almond-shaped, green eyes which, Bruce noted, were rather pretty. His hair was brown and had an old-fashioned haircut with a parting in the middle. He had an overall quirky and old-timey look to him, with the ugliest, most colorful waistcoat hanging open over suspenders and a slightly wrinkled cream dress shirt with its two top buttons open, and casual dark brown, high-waisted slacks with a patch on the knee. 

He turned to look at Bruce, who produced a tissue from his pocket and offered it to Jack. He looked down at it, then back at Bruce.

“Good to meet you, Jack,” Bruce said. 

Jack took the tissue and pressed it against his wet sleeve. Rather than a thank you, an apology or an offer to a handshake, he said:

“So you’re the billionaire boy, huh? You’re taller than I expected.”

“How tall did you expect me to be?” Bruce asked.

Jack’s mouth curled into a smile. There was something simultaneously unpleasant and oddly charming about him. 

“Tall enough to get on all the rides in the amusement park. But shorter than me, of course. Gotta one-up you in something, mustn’t I, Brucie?”

Bruce made a mental note to work on his poker face.

“I’m sure we can find something you’re better at than me," he said, a distinct tightness to his expression, "How about we start with your job?”

The latter sentence came out with more attitude than Bruce had intended. Something twinkled in Jack’s eyes at this. Bruce wasn’t sure how to read the odd lopsided smile that had appeared on his face and he worried that he had overstepped. They were in Jack’s world now and Bruce was new to this.

_Hot diggity damn, this kid with his sass and looking like a young god already._

Jack gave a chuckle and his mouth spread into the widest toothy grin Bruce had ever seen, with his eyes smiling as well.

“I like you,” he said, in a way that made Bruce feel strange, “Let me show you to the lab.”

It became quickly and abundantly clear that Jack was highly intelligent and truly an expert in his field. Bruce had no clue whatsoever what he was telling him half the time. Jack knew this and, annoyingly, clearly enjoyed it. Unbeknown to him, Bruce was recording their conversation in order to transcribe any technical or otherwise significant information. He knew this was questionable in more ways than one but he wanted to be ready for anything in light of the scandals that had plagued the plant in recent years, including accusations of an illegal waste dump that couldn’t be connected to ACE beyond reasonable doubt. And, if he was being honest with himself, there was a childishly thrilling aspect to it as well.

After seeing the lab and the offices he was shown to the part of the complex where the large amounts of chemicals and resulting waste were being processed.

“And that concludes the tour!” Jack announced as they stood atop a walkway between the vats, throwing his hands in the air. A part of Bruce expected confetti to fall from the ceiling; This man was a performer. That reminded him of something.

“What were you rehearsing for?” He asked.

Jack didn’t seem to expect this at all. He gave him a brief look of surprise and a curtain was lifted to show a peek of a fragility that Bruce hadn’t seen until now. Then, he quickly schooled his features back into a that grating smirk, though knowing he had failed a save.

“Oh, that? That was my stand-up act,” he answered.

A comedian. Figures.

“You work two jobs?”

Jack narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah. What’s it to you?”

Bruce fought the urge to look away.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry -”

“Then don’t pry.” Jack gave him an intense look, then leaned leisurely against the railing. Suddenly, his tone switched from snappy and rude to that of... was it pride?

“I’ll only have one job soon though. I’m handing in my resignation today.”

“Oh? I thought comedians are freelancers” said Bruce.

At that, Jack gave a bark of laughter that sounded a little crazy.

“Ha! I meant the other job!”

“You don’t like it here?”

“Are you kidding? It’s a snooze fest. You don't get to be creative! Sure, the pay is decent but there’s more to life, isn’t there?”

Bruce’s expression hardened as things he’d rather not think about squeezed at his heart.

“Yeah... there is,” he said quietly.

Jack gave him a sly, almost mean look.

“Money not buying you happiness either, Bruce?”

“Rarely. But now you are prying,” He said seriously.

“Then we’re even. And, by the way,” - he grinned - “you can stop recording now.”

Bruce felt his face flush.

“Don’t worry, darling. I won’t tell,” Jack said with a wink.

There was something about this moment, something beyond description or explanation. Bruce had an eerie sense of deja vu, as if they either had been here before or were meant to be - the two men standing on that walkway and the tension between them.

"I appreciate that," Bruce said stiffly.

"That's right, I won't tell on you but I may _tell you_ , if the price is right."

"That's not how I do things."

"Oh, really? Since when was that beneath your kind? Not like you typically come down here to mingle."

"I have what I came for," Bruce said curtly, trying to hide his irritation with Jack. 

"Sneaky and efficient? My kind of guy! Come on, let's get today over with."

Jack guided him back to the offices where they found Miss Roberts in hers, flicking through some documents.

“He’s all yours, boss,” said Jack as he ushered Bruce in.

“Thank you, Jack. Oh, and I’ll want a word with you later!”

“Yeah, yeah...” Jack waved at her dismissively. “See you around, kid!” he said to Bruce and closed the door behind him.

Miss Roberts gave the door an icy, narrow-eyed stare, then gave a soft huff before turning her attention back to Bruce.

“Please forgive him. He has... issues.” She said tightly, clearly stressed out.

“It’s alright. I think I have seen everything I came here to see.“

“I hope everything was to your satisfaction?”

“Quite. But there is this one thing.”

Miss Roberts looked concerned now.

“What’s that?”

“You really need to replace the railings on the walkway between the waste vats. They’ll be rusted through in a few years. Thank Luke for me.”


	2. Chapter 2

The stairwell smelled of piss again. Jack glanced under the stairs and saw an elderly homeless man curled up in there, perhaps sleeping, perhaps... not. An empty bottle of booze lay at his feet. He could hear banging and screaming a couple of floors up, and police sirens in the distance. Jack chose to ignore all of it and proceeded to climb slowly up the stairs to the first landing. He dug his keys out of his pocket and was about to slide the key into the lock when he lowered his hand and let his arm swing down to his side. He closed his eyes. A deep breath in through the nose - and out through the mouth. He stood there for a while, taking in more slow, deep breaths until the screaming stopped and he could enjoy relative silence.

Coming home had become a performance in itself, make-believe that he was returning home from a successful comedy show. In reality, it had been months since the last profitable gig he had secured, and the last time he had actually worked was at some kid’s birthday party as a clown. They’d gotten themselves one sad, grumpy clown. Oddly, they’d liked him. Knowing some magic tricks had really paid off, even if a couple of the gags may have been a little too dark for that audience. Didn’t pay very well in any case. And by gods, were the kids annoying. 

To think that it would take one bomb to make up for months and months of financial struggles. To think that he now had participated in grand larceny... It had felt amazing on that night, in the rush of that excitement and in its novelty. But it had still felt surreal. Now that he was coming home from talks about doing another, bigger one, the reality was creeping in. He’d have to stop after this one, or tell Jeannie and hope she understands... No, he couldn’t tell her. He’d clean this up, they’d be fine and she’d never have to worry about it.

He let one last breath out through his mouth and turned the key in the lock.

“Hi, honey! Phew, what a night!” he said, in a rehearsed, light tone of voice, while shrugging off his tuxedo jacket and removing his bow tie. He folded it and stuck it into the jacket’s pocket. Jeannie didn’t respond, but the lights were on and her clothes were there on the hanger. He found Jeannie sitting at the kitchen table and could immediately tell something was wrong. She looked like she’d been crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her from the doorway, now apprehensive about entering the kitchen. Jeannie didn’t look at him. She was staring down at something on the table. Jack’s heart jumped into his throat when he spotted some empty scratch cards and lottery tickets, betting tips for the horse races, the hip flask and the little resealable plastic bag that he’d hidden and... bank statements - the ones he’d taken out to forge more presentable versions of for her to find.

“What kind of a question is that?” she finally said and turned to look at him. It smacked him in the face just how destroyed she looked. She had been having a hard time lately, but he hadn't seen her this distraught since the car accident, and never quite as obviously drunk, as now.

“You know,” Jeannie carried on, “I had my suspicions that something was up. I thought maybe you’re just cheating on me. Maybe you were fooling around with that guy down the street, what’s his name? I’ve seen the way you look at him, and I get it. He _is_ hot.”  
Jack opened his mouth to argue but Jeannie carried on.

“And honestly, that would have hurt less, if that had been the case. Way less. And If I’d only found this” - she picked up the little bag of coke and angrily shook it in her hand - “Then I could have just told you to go to rehab and maybe we’d have gotten through this.”

“I’m not a junkie,” Jack said, and Jeannie let out a shrill laugh.

“Maybe not. How would I know? Seems there’s a lot I don’t know. But then there’s _this_ ,” - she jabbed at the bank statement with her index finger - “I see a lot of cash withdrawals while you were still at ACE, while I was wondering how come we still struggle with your income... And while you were drinking and gambling your money! And I see that almost nothing has been coming in for ages. No deposits from the clubs. It’s _funny_ how you still magically have the money to keep this rotten fucking roof over our head, isn’t it?”

Jack’s heart sank and his gaze fell to the floor.

“You would not believe the day I’ve had,” Jeannie said, and Jack looked up to see her take a swig from a half-empty bottle of vodka and set it forcefully back on the table.  
“And I come home and...”

Tears were now streaming down her face and she was shaking. It was now that Jack could smell the unmistakable smell of vomit coming from the sink.

“Are you OK?” he asked her. 

She suddenly looked enraged, beyond herself.

“SHUT UP with your STUPID FUCKING QUESTIONS!” she screeched at him, snatched the bottle off the table and smashed it into the wall.  
“I... Lottery, my ass! How I fell for that... And you didn’t perform a set today - nor last weekend - did you? Where are you getting your money, Jack? Do I have visiting hours in Blackgate Penitentiary to look forward to?”

“I meant to tell you eventually,” Jack said.

“Aww, how sweet of you,” was her bitter response.

“I tried getting back to ACE. They wouldn’t have me.”

“I wonder why...” she said sarcastically.

“I tried getting more work... I worked so hard on my material! Those dumbasses just don't _get it!_ ” They don't get the joke!”

“Answer my question!” Jeannie snapped, “At least that’s not a stupid one, you ass!”

This all sounded way too familiar to him. He’d heard every imaginable belittling, humiliating comment in his childhood home and some particular inflection in her voice hit a raw nerve that made something snap.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH, BITCH!” he roared at her and took a couple of steps towards her, raising his fist. Her eyes widened and she recoiled slightly. Just as suddenly as it had overtaken him, Jack snapped out of his bout of rage and froze to the spot. Another tear fell down Jeannie’s face as she blinked rapidly, her eyes fixed on him. Jack quickly looked away from her and lowered his arm. A silent, tense moment passed before he opened his fist and moved that palm to rest on his face. They’d argued before but this had never happened.

“I’m sorry...” he said quietly, still not meeting her eyes, “I can’t tell you, OK? They’d kill me. I was gonna stop. And I was gonna tell you.”

Jeannie wiped tears from her face.

“You weren’t gonna tell me shit.”

“I was gonna fix this."

But Jeannie wasn’t having any of it.

“Get out.”

There was no mistaking that low, dangerous tone but, stupidly, he still wanted to save this somehow.

“What? No, I -”

Jeannie got up and ran at him.

“GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

He shielded his face from her fist which landed painfully on his arm.

“Jeannie... c'mon...!”

She wasn’t listening, and Jack supposed she couldn’t be blamed. He turned around and headed for the door. He felt something hit his back and winced, but kept walking.

“You’re not staying here! I’m not looking at your stupid face right now! I don’t care where you sleep but it ain’t here! I’m filing for divorce tomorrow, YOU HEAR ME?”

Jack grabbed his jacket, opened the door and stepped into the stairwell. Maybe he was imagining it, but the stench seemed even worse now.

“Take this crap with you!” - she threw the bag of coke at him. He failed to catch it and it fell to the floor. The hip flask hit his forehead and came down with a clang. 

“Oh, and you’re paying for this!”

She slammed a piece of paper into his chest. He caught it with one hand, the other cradling his head, and before he could say or do anything more, the door slammed closed.

With shaking hands, he unfolded the piece of paper. 

It was a medical bill. He gaped at the procedure, then at the recipient, suddenly feeling absolutely nothing, completely hollow.

_Planned Parenthood._


	3. Chapter 3

Jack waved Luke a drunken goodbye and stumbled into the bushes behind the bar. It was the first one he’d been to since being kicked out of his home. He’d spent the last half an hour or so catching up with his old workmate whom he'd found there by pure chance, sharing what he could about his fresh breakup; there wasn’t all that much that he could. Lying there pathetically in the bush, the leaves still wet from the rain that had just swept by, he found an odd, calm space there to continue processing what he’d seen on that bill. As he was getting more and more drunk he was now feeling resentment towards Jeannie for having done that behind his back. Not that he disagreed with her decision; he would have made the same one. But that was precisely why he found it so insulting. It should have been their decision. She wasn't supposed to keep things from him and then berate him for doing the same... She probably hadn’t originally planned on ever telling him about that either, Jack thought, and decided that made them even.

An unknown amount of time had passed when a young woman's laughter snapped him out of his thoughts. He squinted at the group walking past him and could see one of them pointing at him. He managed, with some comical flailing about, to get himself back on his feet and out of the bushes. He pulled a twig out of his hair and flicked it to the ground. He looked around to see that no one was nearby and furtively pulled the little plastic bag out his pocket. With his tongue between his lips and his face scrunched up in concentration, he tapped on it, attempting to get a little bit of the white powder onto the back of his hand. 

At that moment, the back door of the bar opened and, accompanied with a lot of shouting, someone was thrown out. This startled Jack and a plume of white puffed out of the bag as it fell to the ground. He fought the urge to swear and quickly sniffed what had landed on his hand. He had no idea how much it was, nor did he particularly care.

Feeling a lot better, he lit a cigarette and began to walk in a random direction. He didn’t know where he would be sleeping tonight. Maybe he'd go see if the homeless man had cleared his little hotel room in that stinking stairwell. He couldn’t afford an actual hotel room; he’d just paid a couple of months’ worth of overdue rent, bills and other debts and deposited a large sum onto Jeannie’s account. He had just about enough money to keep himself fed for the rest of the month, before his next welfare payment - as well as get totally hammered. He probably could have crashed at Luke's had he asked but for some reason unknown to him he just hadn't gotten the words out. When Luke had asked him if he has a place to go, he'd replied, "Sure, I've got this," and ordered a tequila.

Jack kept wandering aimlessly in the Gotham City night, past neon signs and shady-looking individuals, dingy bars and hookers trying to get his attention. He kept walking until his feet were aching and he found himself now having left East End and heading towards a better part of town. He wanted to find a bar he’d never been to, maybe a fancy pub or club where he would stick out like a sore thumb... Only now did he realize he was still wearing his tuxedo, but without a bow tie. No wonder he’d looked so ridiculous to that woman earlier, lying in that damn bush. The thought made him chuckle to himself. He could now hear music coming from a grand-looking old building where, based on the appearance of the doorman and a couple who were just leaving, rich folks were having a party. He grinned and decided he wasn’t going to be wearing a tux for nothing. 

Jack searched his pockets for his bow tie and spent a long time putting it on. The result of his efforts was a little bit wonky but deemed good enough. Looking down, he found his lapel flower missing; it must have dropped into the bushes earlier. Knowing he had no way of getting past the security at the front entrance, he steered clear. Instead, he turned the corner to make his way around the building. The back door was locked but there was a small balcony overhead. It took some doing to climb into the tree next to the balcony and he very nearly fell when making a jump onto the balcony railing. He smoothed his hair and his clothes and was about to open the balcony door when he noticed some potted roses. With a flick of his switchblade he cut off a small, delicate red bloom, careful not to be noticed by the people mingling indoors. He carefully placed it into the buttonhole and smiled at his new, fancier boutonniere.

Looking around the room he found himself in, it was clear to him that these people weren’t just rich, they were ultra rich. This wasn’t just any party, but a god damned gala. Normally he’d feel uncomfortable and out of place at an event like this but tonight he really didn’t care. Anywhere was fine for him. He belonged as much as the next twerp, no matter how many millions they might have. There were only four people in the small room he found himself in; an old lady inspecting some god-awful paintings on the wall, a young handsome man explaining something to her, presumably about said paintings, and an apparently tipsy man sitting on a sofa upholstered in red velvet, flirting with a woman who giggled and blushed. Fortunately, they were too focused on each other to pay him any mind. A few valuable items just accidentally fell into his pockets as he passed.

He strutted his way downstairs like he owned the place, admiring the golden chandelier and the people dressed to the nines. He picked a glass of champagne from a mustachioed butler’s silver tray and could tell that his tailcoat must have been more expensive than Jack’s tuxedo - and he had paid quite a bit for this look. A particularly fabulous purple evening dress on a tall brunette caught his eye and he got a sudden desire to try it on. He sailed around the hall, listening in on conversations, most of which were dreadfully boring. One would have thought people with this much money to spend would have used it to lead more exciting lives. 

Now standing fairly close to the front entrance, he could read the sign. This made him grin like a fool.

“Billionaire boy...” he muttered to himself. This was no less than a Wayne Foundation fundraiser. Jack was starting to attract attention, wandering around on his own. It was very late by now and the crowd was thinning. It was getting harder to blend in. He didn’t want to leave just yet, though. He was feeling like having another cigarette so he headed back to where he had come from. The couple on the sofa had disappeared but the paintings still seemed to hold the old woman’s interest. Jack supposed she wanted to buy one of them.

Upon entering the little balcony he noticed someone already standing there, a tall man in a black tuxedo facing the garden at the back, leaning over the railing. Jack closed the door behind him and lit the cigarette. He noticed the other man tense up and got the feeling he had hoped to be left alone. This made him compelled to throw caution to the wind and talk to him.


	4. Chapter 4

“Not enjoying the party?” Jack inquired and leaned against the balcony railing. When the man turned to look back at Jack he realized, much to his delight, that this was not just any man. In fact, he was only barely old enough to even be considered one. Bruce Wayne looked tired and uncomfortable. Still, he somehow remained as dashing as ever with his tall frame in fitted clothes, his chiseled jaw and raven black hair, his eyes blue as ice. 

“Not the worst I’ve been to,” he replied in what Jack recognized as that same rehearsed tone of voice he had learned to adopt when returning home. Bruce Wayne, however, had not had quite as much practice.

Bruce took a closer look at Jack. “Have we met?” he asked, clearly racking his brain to connect the face with a time and place.

Jack flashed at smile.

“We have indeed! but I won’t tell you. Let’s see if I made an impression. You sure did, I gotta say.”

It didn’t take long for Bruce to place him.

“Jack? From ACE Chemicals?”

Jack pointed finger guns at him.

“Bingo.”

“How and why did you get in?”

There was no suspicious or reprimanding tone to his voice, Jack noted. He seemed genuinely curious. This tickled Jack’s brain.

“That tree,” he replied and pointed behind him with his thumb, now leaning his back against the railing, “and because it’s not like I had anything better to do.”

“I see. And what is a comedian doing crashing a fundraiser, drunk and high as a kite?”

Jack raised his eyebrows in a comically innocent expression.

“What makes you think I’m either of those things?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Bruce’s lips.

“You reek of hard liquor, for starters. You also sniffed between or during every sentence and have dilated pupils. Furthermore, you seem overconfident considering your position here. Want me to go on?”

Jack was amused and impressed by this.

“Well, well, aren’t you quite the detective!”

“I read. And you’ve yet to answer.”

“Ah. Well… I’m a comedian between jobs right now. It gets boring after a while, you know.”

“And this is a typical pastime for the unemployed?”

Jack gave him that same odd lopsided smirk that had made Bruce just as obviously uncomfortable on their first encounter.

“Do I seem like a typical anything to you?” he asked, in a playful manner.

“No. You don’t. Should I be worried?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Jack resumed his innocent tone.

“I mean, do I have a stalker?”

Jack could see that he was half-joking but didn’t want to give him anything more.

“Ha! Don’t flatter yourself, Bruce. This was a chance encounter. Call it fate if you will. I didn’t know what this was all about when I flopped myself over this railing and into your bourgeois little get-together.”

Bruce silently studied him while Jack threw his cigarette butt out into the garden and took out his hip flask to take a swig from it, only to get a single drop out of it. He then threw the flask out as well with an abrupt screeching laugh.

A quiet moment passed as they both merely stood there looking out into the night. Then Jack scratched the back of his head. “Hm. Guess I shouldn’t have done that, huh…”

“Are you alright?”

This question came completely out of left field. It confused Jack. It made him anxious - a little angry, even.

“Alright? … _Alright?_ Ha!” he gave a bitter bark of laughter, “If this” - he motioned towards the now empty room inside - “is alright then I suppose I am not.”

Bruce frowned slightly, in thought, as he studied Jack. Jack found himself feeling slightly uncomfortable under his calm scrutiny.

“It’s like you want to get into trouble,” Bruce said calmly. His apparent calmness irritated Jack. He had preferred him uncomfortable. If one of them was to be, it should be him.

“Maybe I just _am_ trouble,” he said, leaning into Bruce’s personal space, “Maybe I really do have a bunch of pictures of you now to add to my shrine.”

He grinned.

“Say, Brucie, aren’t you a little too young to be here? A boy like you…” - his eyes flicked up and down his body - “Are you even old enough to drink?”

Bruce held his ground, however, and kept his cool despite having this odd man right in his face.

“No, I am not old enough to drink, nor am I interested in drinking. And I’m not intimidated by you, either. Unlike the security guard now entering the room I don’t consider you a threat.”

Jack gave a quick glance in through the window and, indeed, there was a guard heading towards them. He placed his hands on the railing and was about to climb onto it when Bruce grabbed his arm. He was surprisingly strong; Jack could not have wrenched himself out of his hold had he tried. 

Jack’s initial urge was to do just that or, failing that, to sink his switchblade into his arm if that’s what it would take to get onto the railing and see if he could make the jump back into the tree. He wanted to see if he could run fast enough to get away… Actually, he just _wanted to run_ \- as fast as he could. His hand was already wrapped around the hilt, ready to draw out the blade, but there was something… _something_ about the look on that face. Something deep in those damned blue eyes that made him stay put. 

“Please,” Bruce quietly said to him, a few seconds before the door opened, “don’t do what you’re about to do, Jack. I’ll handle this.”

“Step aside, Mister Wayne,” came the guard’s booming voice, “This man doesn’t have an invitation.” 

Bruce stepped between Jack and the gorilla, raising a hand and giving an airy laugh - that same curious switch that Jack had noticed earlier.

“No, no, it’s alright! I know him personally from one of the Foundation’s projects… He’s going through a tough time, you see.”

“He’s trespassing, sir.”

“I know,” - he leaned towards the man and spoke in a very much audible whisper, adopting a condescending tone - “He’s a little confused but he doesn’t mean any harm. I can take care of him. You can go now.”

The guard nodded and turned to leave, but not before giving Jack one last suspicious look. Jack responded by sticking his tongue out at him like he was five years old. Then he turned to look at Bruce, now a little unsteady on his feet as he leaned against the railing in an attempt at a cool and relaxed manner; Jack was coming down from his high and hence was starting to feel just how very drunk he was. It also struck him that he hadn’t eaten anything since long before his meeting regarding the next heist, and his exhausting confrontation with Jeannie.

“Well…” Jack said, “I have no idea why you did that but… thanks, I guess.”

“I don’t either but you’re welcome,” Bruce said with a slight smile. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”

Bruce took a seat on the red velvet sofa where the blushing woman had sat earlier.

“You continue to impress me,” Jack said, before sitting down next to him. “ _‘Going through a tough time’_ … Hehe, that was a good one!” he slapped his knee.

“And no doubt accurate,” Bruce stated seriously.

Ugh. The elite had no business being so remarkably astute, let alone showing any interest in those so below them. It was deliciously jarring.

“Why pry about something you have no real interest in or use for? My life would be incredibly boring to you. Not to mention confusing if you’ve never lived a day of a lowly peasant’s life. _Did you know_ that some of us have to do our own dishes? Imagine that!”

“How fascinating,” said Bruce with good-natured, pretend cluelessness - “Please, do humor me.”

Jack couldn’t help but like the young man. Every word that came out of his mouth and every action that he took made it more apparent that he was different from the rest. He was sharp as a razor and had a duality to him, a mask that he put on and lifted, like flicking a switch. Jack could relate to that. He also seemed humble and kind to the point that felt foreign and awkward to Jack. He had assumed this was just part of his front but, as he was now learning, it really seemed this was just who he was. And yet… there was something dark and passionate there; Jack had seen it in his eyes when he had grabbed his arm, so sure of himself due to his overwhelming physical strength, and apparently ignorant of the blade he could have received in his triceps or between his ribs. Maybe it was simply his naivety or maybe he just was as reckless and fearless as Jack was; drawn to the thrill of the unknown.

Jack quickly shook himself out of his thoughts as they were drifting dangerously close to how attractive Bruce was. It would be humiliating to allow his genuine fascination with him to show on the outside.

“I am flattered, truly. A rich brat of your stature, showing such interest in this drab existence of mine. But fine, fine! Hmm, let’s see…” - he counted his points with his fingers - “I lost my livelihood, was kicked out of my home, am damn near broke with no place to stay and the only living relative who wants anything to do with me - if only to control me - is an abusive hag who thinks this is all my fault. And you know what? It kind of is! That’s pretty funny, isn’t it?”

“Side-splitting,” said Bruce darkly as Jack laughed at himself. Jack glanced at him, expecting to find sickening pity on his face. That was not what he found, however. Bruce wasn’t even looking at Jack, but rather solemnly into distance, clearly deep in thought. By God, he looked handsome.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Brucie?” Jack asked him. He was now lazily lounging on his side of the sofa, attempting to lay his head against the backrest and close his eyes. This made his head spin wildly so he yanked it back up. It felt suddenly very heavy, and a bout of mild nausea swept over him.

“About what happens next,” Bruce replied, “About what makes people do the things they do.”

At that moment, a few things happened at once; Jack flung his legs onto Bruce’ lap as if he was a pillow. Bruce looked down into his lap in a flustered mixture of annoyance and amusement, while Jack saw the blurry double image of the old butler from earlier appear in the doorway and stop in his tracks. Jack squinted to focus his vision and catch a glimpse of the butler opening his mouth in surprise for a second before he regained his composure.

Jack had noted before while admiring the man’s tailcoat the elegant way in which he carried himself and how he looked. He must have been quite the catch in his youth.

“I see you have made yourself a friend, Master Bruce,” he said in a way that struck Jack as oddly familial.

Bruce looked alarmed for a second, then embarrassed.

“Yeah… Something like that. Please tell me everyone’s leaving.”

“I have good news for you, sir.”

Bruce gave a relieved sigh.

“Finally. ”

“Is he yours?” Jack asked Bruce, motioning towards the doorway.

“I serve young master Wayne but I am no one’s property, mister - ?”

“Jack!” he said happily, then lowered his legs off of Bruce’s lap and pushed himself up on his feet. It felt like the world was crooked beneath them. He held out his hand and was attempting to approach the butler for a handshake when his field of vision narrowed, his legs gave way and he fell to the floor. The last thing he was conscious of was the sound of Bruce getting up from the sofa.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack could hear an odd rumbling sound and feel it gently vibrate beneath him in whatever the soft thing was that he lay on. He could also hear what he recognized as heavy rain pounding on something hard. He cracked open his eyelids to see the back of a seat covered in fine leather. It didn’t take him long to realize that he had been laid across the back seat of a car; At least he didn’t remember getting into one by himself. But whose car and why? Panic struck him for a split second when he thought of it possibly being a cop car. But there were no handcuffs and the interior seemed way too fancy for that.

He sat up and looked over at the driver’s seat via the rear view mirror. It was the butler. A butler and a chauffeur? He wondered what else the mustache man did for - … Bruce. He peered over at the passenger seat and sure enough, there was Bruce Wayne, leaning back against the backrest, eyes closed.

“I see your acquaintance has awoken, Sir.”

Bruce opened his eyes and craned his neck to look at Jack from between the car seats.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said, “We’re headed to my place. We’re almost there. You will have a bed to sleep in.”

“What happened?” Jack asked, now sitting up and rubbing his temples. He was still very drunk but no longer high. He was feeling very tired and unwell.

“You lost consciousness but fortunately Alfred here is trained in first aid. He made sure you were alright. Considering your state and situation we- ... I felt it safer that you stay with us for the night. I hope this is alright with you?”

“Uh, sure…” said Jack sluggishly, still orienting himself to this unexpected turn of events. Then he smiled that odd, uneven smile of his. 

“Thanks, Al!”

“That’s Mister Pennyworth to you. But you are most welcome, Mister… Jack.”

“Jack Napier, at your service, Mister Pennyworth,” Jack said pompously and stuck his hand out towards him from between the car seats. Alfred Pennyworth glared at it from the corner of his eye but removed one of his hands from the steering wheel anyway for what was the most awkward and brief handshake. It made Jack want to chuckle but he figured he had tried Mr. Pennyworth’s patience enough as it was. So, he made an effort to keep a somewhat straight face. To his delight, he noticed Bruce obviously doing the same.

“Can’t wait to see that crazy huge manor of yours! Do you need a megaphone to talk to each other across the dining room table? Or a carrier pigeon?”

Bruce gave a weak chuckle.

“We’re not going to Wayne Manor. One of my penthouses is closer.”

“ _One of_ …?” - Jack shook his head - “Wow, okay.”

They soon parked into a private garage underground where an elevator would take them straight to the top of the high rise building in Old Gotham. Bruce had to help Jack out of the car as he was still a little unsteady on his feet. He tried not to let it show how much he appreciated the strong arm of the handsome young man. He had only ever seen luxury apartments in pictures so far and it felt quite surreal to walk into one in the middle of the night, drunk and exhausted and in the company of Gotham’s most eligible bachelor and his butler. He had expected something tacky and over-the-top from someone this rich, but while the two-floor, high-ceilinged penthouse certainly seemed equipped with all the amenities one could need, it was smaller than he’d expected and surprisingly homey with its dark hardwood floors and fireplace. The interior was furnished and decorated sparingly and elegantly in muted tones. Looking out of the oversized windows he could see a terrace with a swimming pool, the surface of which rippled with heavy raindrops. It was surrounded by LED-lights embedded in the marble floor, casting a ghostly glow in the rain. Jack had trouble deciding whether this clashed horribly or fit perfectly with the rest of the place.

“Thank you for this, Alfred,” Bruce said with an apologetic smile as they left the entrance gallery and followed Jack into the living space, “I’ll make it up to you.” 

“No need, Sir. But I would very much like to retire for the night now, it that’s alright.”

“Of course.”

“Let me know should you need further assistance.”

Jack made note of the subtle tightness to Alfred’s voice and expression.

“I will. Don’t worry,” said Bruce, “Goodnight.”

With a nod, Alfred retreated upstairs and left Bruce and Jack to stand there in the living room in awkward silence. Jack quickly looked away. He stood at the window, looking out at the black silhouette of the skyline. He could feel Bruce’s eyes on himself but remained still and silent. He didn’t like how this all made him feel. He didn’t care for feeling vulnerable. The reality was that he was entirely at this stranger’s mercy. Not that he was afraid of Bruce - the kid seemed kind enough - but being self-sufficient and resourceful had always worked out for him in the past... Well, until now, he supposed.

He could see Bruce’s reflection in the window disappear into another room. Jack silently followed him to the doorway he had entered, careful to remain undetected. A peek inside revealed a dining area with a large kitchen island with seating. Bruce was looking around the cabinets for something. Jack headed back towards the empty fireplace before Bruce could notice him and sat down in one of the armchairs.

Bruce returned with a pint filled with a clear liquid.

“Here, I think you need this,” he said as he offered it to Jack. 

Jack set the little statue he’d been playing with back on the table and gave the pint a suspicious, narrow-eyed look. 

“What is it?”

“It’s just water. Please, you must be dehydrated.”

“Probably, yeah...” Jack said and accepted the water, “You got any painkillers? I think I’m gonna need one in the morning.”

“I’ll bring you some shortly.”

Bruce sat down in the other armchair and looked into his eyes.

“You tried to steal from me,” he said steadily.  
  


Damn. Alfred must have found the golden decorations he’d swiped from the gala while looking after his pathetic, unconscious ass.  
  


“Yeah,” he said. There wasn’t much else he could say.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Pfft, don’t you start! I’m not in the mood.”

“Alright. But if you need help, you can ask me for it.”

“Noted,” Jack said irritably, then took a drink from the pint. He hadn’t realized just how thirsty he was before the water touched his tongue. He downed the entire pint.

Bruce gave a soft sigh.

“I don’t come here often so there was nothing in the fridge,” he explained, “However, I can call room service if you’d like something to eat?”

Jack waved a dismissive hand.

“You really don’t have to do that. I’d just like to lie down...”

“I won’t let you do that before you’ve told me what to get you.” said Bruce squarely.

Jack raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth curled. For some reason, he really, really liked this forceful, uncompromising version of Bruce Wayne that he had never expected to find under what he now knew to be a mask he wore in public.

“Yes, sir,” he said with a grin.

“You can decide what to do with it when you get it. Now, what would you like?”

“Hmm... what do you have? No, wait - I can have anything I want?”

“Theoretically. But I’m not calling in the whole kitchen staff to cook a three course gourmet dinner at this hour.”

“There goes my foie gras and caviar,” he said with a mock sad frown, “Honestly, I don’t care. Anything will do. But cherries and nougat don’t mix! That’s where I draw the line.”

“Alright. Let me show you to the guest room.”

Jack tried to get up and follow Bruce. It seemed he had done this too fast; Blood rushed away from his head and down to his legs which threatened to give way again. He grabbed hold of the back of the armchair and cursed out loud. This made Bruce stop and walk back to him.

“Here, let me help you...”

This was simultaneously humiliating as well as comforting, warm and pleasant, to have someone to lean on. Jack was clearly not someone anyone else could lean on, he’d learned that much, but neither did he enjoy depending on anyone else. That was something he’d never really had the luxury of. He had always been expected to pretty much take care of himself. Jeannie might have done a better job at being a provider than he had, had their situation been different, but... There was really no point wondering about that now, was there? They were over with and if he was honest with himself this was a relief. The relationship had felt like a prison for some time now. She had been his first real relationship if not counting his boyfriend when he was 13 years old; the one whose existence had warranted one hell of a beating from his mother. It had been exciting to find someone beautiful who noticed him, who liked him for who he was, who shared his sense of humor and dislike of authority. But as they found themselves shoved out into the real world, the adult world, he had come to realize that he didn’t actually know what Jeannie wanted out of life. He had never bothered to find out because... he truly didn’t care. He wanted her to be safe and happy for sure, but... It seemed he had never really cared to _know_ her. He had tired of her but hadn’t known what to do, how to get out. Well, he certainly was out now.

Bruce helped him upstairs and into one of the guest rooms.

“Make yourself at home”, he said, helping him down to sit on the edge of the bed, “I’ll go get your painkillers and your snack.”

“Oookey dokey...” Jack said, feeling both uncomfortable and grateful. The bed felt so soft and fresh. Everything about the room seemed to contrast how he felt. He took off his bow tie, jacket and shirt and threw them onto the floor. He now noticed the large bruise on his arm where Jeannie had punched him. He was pretty sure the sore spot on his back must look worse. He reached up to his forehead where the hip flask had hit him and felt a bump there. He didn’t even want to know whether it was showing as well... 

By the time Bruce returned, Jack was lying in bed, on his stomach, and in only his underwear, writing disturbing jokes into a little notebook he always carried with him. Jack found some amusement in the mildly bashful look on Bruce’s face upon noticing his partial nudity. He looked awkwardly down at the tray he was carrying as he approached.

“Got you some sandwiches. Figured they won’t be too heavy but will have you feeling better when you wake up.”

“Hope the painkillers pack a punch,” Jack said as he closed his notebook and sat up on the edge of the bed. This effort made him wince from the pain in his back.

He could see Bruce’s brow creasing as he looked at Jack again.

“They’ll do the trick,” he said.

He handed him the tray. Jack dug right in. As he munched on a sandwich he could see Bruce hesitate for a while before sitting down near the foot of the bed.

“You seem pretty beaten up,” he said, “Will you be OK?”

Jack chuckled and shook his head as he waved dismissively at him.

“Nah, that was just my wife - well, ex wife, I guess. I’ll figure it out.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“Yeah, yeah… You’ve done more than enough. I really just wanna eat and sleep now, if you don’t mind.”

To Jack’s relief, Bruce got up and walked to the door. “Goodnight, Jack,” he said before leaving the room.

“Hey, Brucie,” Jack piped up before he had quite closed the door behind him.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, careful to keep it light, to not convey the true magnitude of his gratitude for this rich oddball.

“You’re welcome,” he heard Bruce say from the other side of the door before it closed.

  
***

  
Jack woke up very early, his mouth like the Sahara and his entire body humming with the sickening comedown. He spent about half an hour with his head in the toilet puking his guts out until there was nothing but bile coming out. He wiped the tears and downed the painkillers praying to any deity, unholy or otherwise, that they would stay down. He got dressed in his tuxedo now creased and stinking of tobacco and made a half-hearted attempt at taming his hair.  
He was relieved to find no one downstairs, just the horrible bright sunlight assaulting him from the windows. As much as he liked Bruce Wayne, he decided a quick exit would probably be for the best; What on earth would he have to give in return, or to say? The billionaire could very well be hoping for Jack be gone by the time he awakens…

He made up his mind and headed for the elevator. To his surprise, there was a little envelope taped to it. He picked it up and entered the elevator. There was a fraction of a second before the doors closed behind him that he felt regret - the tiniest moment where part of him wanted to stick his hand between the doors before they close and go back into this foreign world. But he didn’t. He let the doors close, knowing that he’d never get back in without a key. He pressed a button to take him to the ground floor and opened the envelope on his long way down. There was a note and… money. He frowned, gritting his teeth, and proceeded to read the note.

  
_Jack,_

_I had a feeling you may not want to stay for breakfast. It’s understandable. While I’m disappointed that I didn’t get to hear your story and get to know you better, I’m glad to have had a fundraiser that didn’t entirely bore me to tears for a change. Thanks for that. I know you won’t like it but please accept a little help from a friend. I have also enclosed my card should you ever need to contact me. Just tell her you’re calling about the bunny slippers and you’ll get a response sooner. Take care._

_Bruce_

Jack couldn’t help but smile.


End file.
